


Silent Battles

by Castlewood_Bard



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Kisses, M/M, Mages, Magic, Nerves, Silence Spell, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castlewood_Bard/pseuds/Castlewood_Bard
Summary: Jaskier must live without a voice. It proves difficult.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 99





	Silent Battles

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are probably a million' Jaskier loses his voic'e fics, but I had to give it go. Enjoy :)

Jaskier had stuck his foot in his mouth this time. Literally. Well nearly literally. It was just that the people of this particular town hated fun, music, and everything Jaskier stood for. No reason. They were simply, intolerably boring. It was usually Geralt who earned glares, but, as they traipsed to the inn, Jaskier felt eyes follow his every move.

Then he’d sung. The people looked so dreary, he had to do something to cheer them up. No one had stopped him as he moved to the center of the room, starting a jaunty tune. Some of the patrons did whisper to a hooded figure near the back of the bar. Jaskier ignored him. It was ages since he and Geralt had been anywhere with an audience. Geralt let him complete his set then beckoned towards their room. Jaskier finished his song and followed the Witcher up the stairs. As they entered the room Jaskier felt an odd tickle in his throat. He would deal with it in the morning. Most likely a case of rusty pipes anyway, though he’d never admit it. 

The morning brought something far worse. Jaskier woke to a stabbing pain in his throat.

“Geralt!” he rasped before clutching his neck, gesturing wildly at it. 

“Jaskier, what wrong?”

The bard only motioned to his throat. Geralt felt a shudder on his chest as his medallion sprung to life. He pushed Jaskier back onto the bed and growled. “Stay there.” 

The flow of magic led him to the nondescript man in the corner of the bar, sitting in the very same seat as the night before.

“What did you do?”

The stranger looked up. “We are a quiet town, Geralt of Rivia. Your _bard_ interfered. He will be silent until you finish your contracted hunt.”

“If you think I am doing anything for you people now…”

The man smirked. He had gotten exactly what he wanted. “Understandable. You may leave. Do not return. Thank you very much.”

“Not until you reverse the damned spell.”

“Now, now, you must know that’s not an option. It will fade in the same time your hunt would have taken.”

Geralt’s medallion shook on his chest, and the hum of magic bounced in the air. It was better to leave as soon as possible. There was no telling what this man may do. He threw the sorcerer a glare and stalked back to the room. 

“Jaskier?”

The bard sat bolt upright as Geralt entered. Geralt cursed himself. He should have practiced his words on the way up. How was he going to break this news to his friend?

“Um… we have to leave. That man in the corner- he cursed you. Because well, this town ‘likes quiet’ or something and you… you disturbed it.” 

Jaskier had panic in his eyes as he scanned Geralt’s face. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll wear off. It’s not too strong…”

Jaskier sensed the hesitation in his Witcher. He pointed wildly to his bag. Geralt got the idea and handed it to him. The bard rummaged around, finding a piece of graphite and his notebook. 

‘How long?’ he scribbled.

Geralt blanched. He knew Jaskier would ask, but he didn’t want to answer. “A week. Probably. He said it would last the length of the hunt.”

Jaskier’s face fell. ‘Oh. Well, I guess that’s not too bad.’ he wrote. His eyes told a different story. Worry danced across his expression. 

They sat in tense silence for a moment before Geralt cleared his throat. “I know you feel awful right now, but we need to leave, Jaskier. We can find somewhere in the forest to rest.”

His friend nodded without looking up. The only things Jaskier had were the pack clasped in his hands and his lute. He picked the latter up and followed closely behind Geralt as they made a quick exit. They managed to find a suitable campsite outside the town. Jaskier lagged behind as the spell started to take its toll. Neither tried to say, or write, anything as they unpacked and fell asleep. 

Jaskier woke to Geralt shuffling around. He yawned and made to wish his companion a good morning. His throat closed painfully, and he winced. A small groan did escape, making Geralt turn around. 

“How do you feel?”

Jaskier cast him a look.

“Sorry, bad question. I meant; you don’t feel any other changes.”

Jaskier patted himself down and nodded, indicating he was fine.

“Good. Let’s get going. I want as much distance between us and that _place_ as possible,” he spat. 

They were on the road before long. It was quieter than normal, but nothing Geralt couldn’t deal with for a few days. He wondered what Jaskier was thinking, but every time he tried to say something Jaskier waved him off with a smile. It was his way of reassuring Geralt everything was fine. The bard’s Adam's apple bobbed occasionally, as if he were about to speak, but each time Jaskier caught himself. When he did, Geralt noticed a pained expression that gave him the desire to rip the sorcerer limb from limb. He knew telling Jaskier this was useless, so he kept it to himself. Instead putting his energy into watching the road and his bard. Both were unpredictable at the moment.

However, the day passed uneventfully. If Jaskier needed something, he wrote it down or poked Geralt’s arm. They slept in the forest again and continued on in the morning. The next two days passed much the same, though Jaskier’s shoulders sagged more towards the end of the third day. 

With the silence, Geralt began to notice little things his travelling companion did. When he was tired he dragged his feet and sighed. Hungry, he would bounce his shoulders. And nervous, his fingers grasped at air. He also strummed his lute, but his melodies grew sad and stopped halfway through the second day. The instrument now sat idle in one of Roach’s saddlebags. Geralt figured it was difficult for Jaskier to play but not sing. The two went hand in hand for the bard.

A few times, Geralt walked next to him and took his hand, trying his best at small talk. Jaskier brightened each time. A sense of usefulness settled on Geralt each time he made Jaskier smile.

But the fourth day was different. The bard’s body was oddly still and the corners of his mouth turned down. Then Geralt thought he saw Jaskier’s lip wobble when they stopped for lunch.

“Jask? Are you-”

The bard held up a hand. He jumped up and kept walking, leaving Geralt scrambling to pack and catch up.

The Witcher left it as long as he could, but he knew he had to say something as they sat around the fire that night. They had travelled rocky terrain and he could tell Jaskier was famished and worn out. But the bard refused to touch his food. 

“What is it?” The question came out gruffer than Geralt wanted. He winced and tried again. “Jask, write me something. Tell me what’s bothering you. Please.”

As the bard glanced at him, Geralt realized, to his horror, tears had formed in Jaskier’s eyes. The Witcher placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on the bard’s back. Then, remembering what helped him, Geralt began rubbing soothing circles along Jaskier's spine.

Jaskier’s hand shook as he wrote, ‘My head is so damn loud.’

Tears splattered the page and Geralt touched each stain as he read. Without hesitation, he pulled Jaskier close and began rocking gently. “I’m so sorry, Jask. I-I wish I could do something, anything to take this away. I would never talk again if you could have your voice back now.” 

Jaskier pushed away, shaking his head. He picked up his notebook and wrote, ‘NO! Your voice is beautiful. I couldn’t bear it if I never heard it again'. He brought his graphite to his lips and added, ‘I just- I have so many thoughts during the day, I have to get them out. When I don’t they build up. It makes me nervous. My mind starts wandering to places I don’t like.’

“Jask, you should have told me. What- Is there anything I can do?”

The bard thought for a moment and glanced around. His eyes stopped on his lute, but he tried to hide it. 

Geralt wasn’t a complete idiot, though. “Music.” He paused. “Jask, you can’t tell anyone this, but I did study music for a moment at Kaer Morhen. It was more of a dropped hobby, but I can do basic scales.”

Jaskier stared at him. ‘Would you?’

Geralt nodded and untangled himself from Jaskier. He returned to their seat with the lute and a look of concentration. “It’s been a long time, remember.”

Jaskier gazed at him expectantly.

He strummed a few notes then started a simple melody. Jaskier’s shoulders eased, tension melting off of him. Geralt knew singing would be useless, but he played every single song he could remember. Some of them twice.

As he played, he realized how tired Jaskier truly was. His head bobbed and came to rest on the Witcher’s shoulder. They’d take easy tomorrow, stay at the camp for the day. The curse wore off in three days. He swore he would be more attentive. Jaskier needed him right now. He’d been so focused on getting away from the town, he forgot how wearing curses could be. His bard was exhausted.

Eventually he scooped Jaskier up, laid him on the bedroll, and held him close for the rest of the night. Geralt hoped it was enough.

Jaskier was up first, so he busied himself with packing. He was better rested than he had been in days. The sound of the dawn was beautiful, but interrupted by Geralt’s morning grumbles.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier pointed between his pack and Roach. 

Geralt grumbled again, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Don’t. We’ll stay here today. It’ll be better for both of us.”

Jaskier cocked his head.

“You can write every thought that pops into your head, and I can tell you a couple stories I’ve been saving. Neither of us needs silence right now.”

Jaskier bounced on his toes and grabbed his book. It was the first genuine smile Geralt had gotten from him in days. Geralt chuckled and launched into his favorite tale of a wizard besting a vampire. 

Jaskier’s hand flew across the page, filling line after line. It was refreshing to see Jaskier excited about something, even if it had been only a few days. They transitioned into questions and comments Jaskier had kept bottled up the past few days next. The Witcher answered each as though it was the most important thing in the world. And to him they were.

Sometime around noon, Jaskier’s head dropped again. Geralt insisted they rest.

“You’ll heal faster. Spells use your energy. Especially when you’re this far from the caster. Go to sleep.” 

Jaskier agreed only after Geralt allowed him to fall asleep in the Witcher’s lap. The warmth of his friend lulled Jaskier immediately. Geralt nestled his face into the bard’s beautiful brown hair. The smell of oak and earth filled his nostrils, but he wrinkled his nose at the hint of enchantment clinging to his bard. Fury lit in his heart. No one had the right to do this to Jaskier. 

“I should have put that good-for-nothing sorcerer straight through the wall. Ten walls. I’m so sorry, Jask. Hold on a little longer. Please,” he muttered.

Geralt was pulled back to reality by a soft pat on his hand. More time had passed than he’d realized. Jaskier was awake and reaching for his notebook.

Geralt handed it to him and waited while Jaskier scrawled. ‘No. Nothing you could have done to change his mind. Don’t feel guilty about this.’

Geralt sighed. “I just wish I could heal you faster.”

‘All you need to do is talk to me.’

Geralt studied Jaskier. “Do you really enjoy my stories that much?”

‘Your stories yes, but your voice even more so.’

A fond smile crept onto Geralt’s face. “Even silent you’re a charmer. Alright, how about the fist kikimora I ever fought.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up as he captured every word. 

They stayed at that site for the rest of the week. Geralt told more stories than he knew he had. It was exhilarating to get them off his chest and even more so to see how much Jaskier enjoyed them. And Jaskier even felt well enough to play his lute again on the sixth evening. It was the most beautiful song Geralt had ever heard. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the bard's skilled melodies.

On the eighth morning, Jaskier stretched and yawned. A contented sigh escaped his lips, followed by a surprise gasp. “ Geralt,” he scratched. “Geralt.”

The Witcher woke at his name. “Jask, it’s back?”

“Yes. Yes, Geralt it’s back. Oh, listen. Oh, dear, I can tell you thank you. I can sing your Witchery praises. I can-” He was cut off by Geralt hoisting him up and spinning him around. A kiss was then placed squarely on his lips, leaving him speechless for a far more pleasant reason.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos always appreciated :)


End file.
